


Trust in Me

by the_rat_wins



Series: Very Persuasive [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Hypnotism, M/M, Mind Control, Somnophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-08
Updated: 2012-10-08
Packaged: 2017-11-15 22:26:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/532446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_rat_wins/pseuds/the_rat_wins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter wants to show Derek some of the more unorthodox powers that werewolves can use, especially on humans. Stiles is a convenient test subject.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trust in Me

**Author's Note:**

> Set during the night after 1.09 (so, Peter has just woken up, and Derek is drinking the "Peter is my Alpha now" Kool-Aid.)
> 
> NOT EVEN SORRY, GUYS. :D

As Peter walks toward the darkened house ahead, he feels Derek fall in line one step behind him, and smiles. Derek is a born Beta, trained from childhood to be an excellent second-in-command for his sister—and nothing more. He is, and always has been, too quiet, too moody, and frankly, not charming enough to succeed in a leadership role. Peter can only imagine how difficult and stressful these recent weeks have been for Derek, as he tried to teach Scott, keep the Argents and the law off his tail, and deal with . . . Stiles.

Peter smiles again. During his awkward and happily infrequent visits to Peter's bedside, Derek had been unusually forthcoming about what was going on with all the miscreant teenagers he seemed to be acquiring. No doubt his belief in Peter's comatose state had loosened his tongue. And the irritation in his voice when describing Stiles had been notable, tinged with an edge of grudging admiration that Peter is certain that Derek is unaware of. As unaware as he is of his scent when talking about Stiles, a slight rising musk that speaks of the unwilling urge to hold with his teeth, and press down, and _rub_.

Judging from the way Derek's scent had been all over Stiles when Peter confronted them in the hospital, Peter is fairly certain that Derek has unknowingly been doing at least the first two. And now it's Peter's job to help him, in his own little way, with the third. Without Derek realizing what exactly is going on. Because after all, what is an Alpha's job, if not to keep his wolves happy and fulfilled and undistracted by tempting boys with wet, open mouths, and attitudes that need adjusting?

Anyway, Peter had found himself sympathizing with Derek after just a few minutes of Stiles. The way his brain had already put together almost everything after just one glance at Peter and his nurse. The hot smell of his skin as his pulse rocketed with fear. The prey-like spread of his limbs as he slid down the wall . . . at Derek's command.

 _Hmm._ That's slightly irritating, now that he comes to think about it. No reason Derek should have all the fun. Tonight's fun is going to serve two purposes: keeping Derek content and undistracted, and demonstrating Peter's complete control over all of them. Including Stiles. 

Especially Stiles.

"What are we doing here?" Derek asks, quietly enough that no human standing near would be able to hear. There's no annoyance or challenge in his voice. Just quiet confusion. _That's_ the Derek he remembers.

"Something I noticed," Peter says, "is the extraordinary lack of success you've had getting anyone—werewolf or otherwise—to do what you want." Derek looks down at his boots, chastised. But Peter can see that he knows he is right. "I imagine your parents and Laura never discussed this with you, as there was never going to be any reason for you to know it, but—there's a certain sort of control, not power, exactly, but a level of influence that you should be able to exert over the minds of others, when it's necessary."

"Like what you can do to Scott?"

"A little. That's more intense, since I made him, and since I'm the Alpha." He smiles. "But even over humans, you should be able to command some amount of sway."

Derek looks up at the dark window above them. "Stiles?" he asks, barely more than mouthing it. Peter can hear a quickening in his heartbeat, a small burst of scent as he says the name. _Really, Derek?_ But Peter suppresses his urge to smirk, and simply nods up at the tree outside Stiles's room. Derek cracks his neck briefly, then leaps up into the branches and swings himself over, sliding the unlocked window open and dropping smoothly and silently inside. Peter looks up at him and shakes his head. Exactly how often has Derek been visiting him? It's adorable, in a puppy-dog sort of way, but Peter can't help but be embarrassed for his nephew, pining after a teenager.

He follows, and they both stand looking down at Stiles's sleeping form in the blue glow of his computer monitor. Peter can hear Derek's heart speeding up slightly, and his scent grows more pronounced at the sight in front of them. 

As always, Stiles's mouth is open, but his lips are dry and cracked-looking. He has on a ratty Batman T-shirt that has twisted around to show most of his stomach, because _of course_ Stiles tosses and turns in his sleep. In fact, as they stand there watching, he murmurs something unintelligible and rolls over onto his stomach.

Peter inhales deeply. Under the scent of overused body spray and dirty laundry, he can still find it: the salty, warm smell of come, not fresh, but undeniable.

Derek freezes, and looks at him like he's lost his mind.

"Relax. We're not going to do anything that will hurt him."

Derek stares at Peter, but Peter lets his eyes flash red for a moment, and he quickly looks away. Peter knows Derek wants this, and now he doesn't have a choice. Peter really is the best Alpha. He waves at Derek to sit in Stiles's computer chair, and then crouches down so that his mouth is right beside Stiles's ear.

In a low voice, he says, "Stiles."

No response, not even a fluttering of eyelashes or a bump in the speed of his heartbeat. Excellent.

"Stiles," he continues, "I want you to listen to me very carefully. And while you're listening to me, I want you breathe in and out deeply. And each time you take a breath, I want you to listen a little bit harder to what I'm saying. And every time you let that breath go, I want you to relax a little more. Can you do that for me, Stiles? Breathe in, listen to my voice. Breathe out, feel your body, your muscles, your nerves, everything, relaxing completely. Because, Stiles, this has been a very, very stressful couple of weeks for you, hasn't it? I know that it has. So, I'm here to help you. Breathe in, hear my voice, breathe out, relax. Let everything fall away. And that's all you need to do now. The one and only thing. You don't need to worry about anyone else, about anything that is happening around you. All you have to do is listen to my voice, and do what I tell you to do, and everything will be fine. Do you understand, Stiles?"

He can hear Stiles's breaths getting deeper and longer, and he can see the line of tension on his forehead beginning to relax. Behind him, there is a soft sound as Derek swallows.

"Are you listening, Stiles? I want you to nod your head if you are."

His cheek pressed into his pillow, Stiles slowly slides his head up and down once. It makes his mouth catch slightly on the pillow. _God, his lips are dry._

"Good, Stiles. That's good. It's perfect. Breathe in, breathe out, and listen. Your mouth is dry. I want you to lick your lips, first the bottom one, then the top one. Slowly. Can you do that for me, Stiles?"

"Yeah," he murmurs, and Peter wasn't expecting him to start talking this soon, wasn't expecting him to be this deep already, but it's all right, because Stiles runs his tongue softly across his mouth and then sighs.

"That feels better, doesn't it?"

"Yeah," he says again, and smacks his lips together a little. _Christ. This kid_.

"You know what else would feel good, Stiles? It would feel better if you rolled over onto your back. So I—we—could see you better."

Stiles frowns at this, and Peter backpedals. Too much, too soon. He needs to be deeper for that. Or maybe he just needs to have it framed in a different way.

"Remember what I said, Stiles? All you have to do is breathe, breathe and listen to me. Don't worry about anything else. Just feel my voice, my words, filling you up, making you warm. Too warm, Stiles. Every time you breathe in, every time I say another word, you feel a little warmer, a little too hot. Feel everything pressing in around you."

There is a light sheen on sweat on his forehead now, and the rising heat of his body is making his soft, sleepy smell stronger. Peter can hear Derek take a furtive inhale behind him, and graciously pretends not to notice.

Stiles moans a little as the heat makes him press himself down into the mattress uncomfortably.

"You know what will make you feel better, Stiles? If you turn over and push the sheet off. All that cool air on your skin. That would feel nice, wouldn't it?" Stiles nods, a little faster this time, and rolls over onto his back, exposing his stomach. Then he pushes the sheet down as far as he can, a little below his knees. The slide of the fabric tugs at his pajama pants as well, just an inch, showing the trail of hair leading down.

His hands wander up again and brush restlessly against his rucked-up shirt. His breathing has slowed down again, but the sweat is still shining on his face.

"Good idea, Stiles," Peter says, and Stiles's face relaxes even more, relief and contentment at having done something right. He pulls at his shirt with clumsy, mindless fingers, and begins to sit up just enough to get it over his head. It gets caught, and he makes a small frustrated noise. Careful not to actually touch him, Peter reaches out a hand and pulls it the rest of the way off. Stiles relaxes back onto the bed with a happy sigh, one arm resting on his stomach and the other lying curved above his head.

"Peter, I don't think that you should—" Derek begins in a whisper, conscience apparently making a last gasp. Peter holds up his hand and Derek falls immediately silent.

"Now your pants, Stiles," Peter says softly, watching him carefully for any sign of resistance or growing awareness.

" _Peter!_ " Derek hisses, but Stiles is smiling softly and pushing his pants down to join the sheet bunched below his knees. Then he sprawls back, and Derek stops. Stiles's cock is soft, jutting out from his dark curls. The hand from his stomach is now lingering along the hair that goes farther down, and he is scratching absently. The warm smell of him makes even Peter want to lick at him and nuzzle. Derek must be holding himself back with everything he has.

"Perfect," Peter says, and Stiles twists slightly under the praise, his hand dipping lower. "Stiles, I don't want you to touch," he says, and the hand stops, a little crease forming again on his forehead. "Breathe," Peter reminds him. "Breathe and listen. What I want you to do is think about all the blood rushing around your body. Through your veins, through your heart, to all your limbs, to every part of you. Can you feel it rushing around inside you, Stiles?"

"Uh-huh," Stiles says, his eyes moving below his eyelids, and his mouth falling open again as his breathing gets more excited.

"Feel that blood flowing down, making you fuller, making you hard," Peter whispers, and he can see Stiles's cock twitch in answer to his words. Derek's breath stutters and catches, and Peter grins. Stiles's hand begins to reach down again. "I said no touching, Stiles. Put both hands above you."

"Sorry," he mumbles, and grabs the headboard. He's more than half hard now. He tries to stretch his legs farther out, but he's held in place by the still-tangled sheet and his pants. A small moan escapes his mouth, and Peter almost feels bad for him.

"There's a hand on you, Stiles," he says. A louder moan chokes out of Stiles, and he thrusts up, his cock flushed and now completely hard. A drop of liquid wells up at the tip, bigger and bigger, until it runs down the side. In the chair, Derek swears and yanks down his zipper to wrap a hand around his cock, the smell of his arousal filling the room and mixing with the scents rising off of Stiles. Almost as though he can sense Derek's excitement, or smell it himself, Stiles's cock jerks again, hard. More liquid is gushing from the tip and trickling down between his legs.

"Take your hands off the bed and pull your legs apart," Peter whispers, leaning in to see it as close as possible.

Stiles draws his knees up to his chest and fumbles at the sheet and his pants. Then his hands curl around his legs and he spreads his thighs open wide, sighing as the air hits his hole, slightly damp from the dribble of precome, and his cock slaps wetly against his stomach.

Derek is now working himself in long pulls that sound painful. He whimpers a little, then groans openly: Stiles's hole is clenching and opening as he rocks his body up and down for the friction between his cock and his stomach.

"Stay still, Stiles," says Peter sharply, and he freezes, but his hole continues to twitch, so Peter takes it in stride. "There's something pressing against you, Stiles. Can you feel it? It's pressing into you and opening you up." Stile moans softly, his cock twitching violently. "You have to relax for it, Stiles. Feel yourself loosen every time it nudges against you, smears you wet, stretches you open." He can see Stiles's hole gaping a little wider with every word. He's gasping for breath, and his hole is contracting and expanding in the same rhythm.

"It's inside you now, Stiles," Peter says, and Stiles arches up into the air, his mouth dropping open, his hole damp and stretched. Behind him, Derek is starting to come, one hand wrapped firmly at the base of his cock, like he's being held tightly inside Stiles's ass.

"Can you feel it, Stiles?" Peter asks conversationally. "Sliding in and out?"

"Uh-huh," Stiles chokes out as he twists and writhes under an unseen body.

"Good boy," says Peter, and Stiles comes.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't how hypnotism works IRL (you can't put someone in a trance against their will.)
> 
> Unbetaed, sorry for any typos! Feel free to point out and I will correct.


End file.
